Prisoner of his Mind
by Secret-Author-Syria
Summary: every villain has a side to their story that they don't tell anyone. Voldemort has a secret that he has kept hidden in a cell, locked up in an unknown location. and that secret is Tom Riddle. the real one. he just never figuerd on anyone being able to read his mind...and now his secrets coming out! rated cause i'm paranoid
1. prologue

**Hello. This was a plot bunny that's been bugging me for a while. Please read and tell me what you think!**

To the wizarding world, Voldemort was simply a creature of the dark, who had sprung up from some forgotten corner of the globe, with only a goal of complete domination. To those who had researched, he was a man, lost in the dark arts, in his 'Flight from Death'. And to those select few who had been there as he had grown up, he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, a brilliant, charming and, at times, lovable young man who had gone insane.

Bu there is always another side to every villain's story, and that is the side that they keep a secret, a side that no-one ever Voldemort too had a hidden side to his story, a secret he had kept hidden on pain of death, and the only ones who knew were the lost souls he had hidden away in an unknown location. And they wold never see the light of day again.

And what was it they knew? T was simple, and it was terrifying.

Lord Voldemort, Terror of the British Isles, Monster in a thousand nightmares should not have existed. He was an impossibility, born in a terrified orphan's nightmare, strengthened on spells cast by an interfering, glory-blind old man, and brought to life in a desperate attempt to be rid of him.

Voldemort had started out as no-more than a figment of the lonely and abused mind of Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here's chapter two. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Except for Sandy. But that doesn't count.**

Drip! Drip! Drip!

The incessant sound of water hitting cold stone was annoying and distracting, and it was preventing him from getting to sleep. Not even the dull flickering of the firelight could lull him to dreams. Finally, annoyed of the sound he got up to search for the source of the noise. After a few moments futile searching, he concluded that whatever it was, was outside of his cell, and therefore outside of his control. He returned to hi pile of furs.

Curling up, he sent his mind out to his Opposite, and found a vindictive pleasure in seeing that the other could not sleep either.

'_hah! Serves that nasty, disgusting…_' he amused himself for a while by coming up with new adjectives to describe the other, glad that that 'thing' could not read his mind.

Finally exhausting his list of adjectives, he got up, and moved to the back wall of his cell, his fingers searching for the grooves he had carved in every year on his birthday. Fifty marks. Fifty years. He had been trapped there for fifty years.

Tom Marvolo Riddle hadn't seen the light of day for Fifty years, not since Voldemort had trapped him there.

Trapped by a figment of his imagination. Wouldn't the psychologists just love it. Not to mention, the irony was killing him. Slowly.

Tom sat on his bed, staring out of the window into the little park that sat next to the orphanage. He watched the children playing with their families with a sense of detachment. The tie when he would have wanted to be one of those children had long since passed, gone when e had discovered family in the Slytherin House. Now he just thought of the 'might have been's'

A knock on his door drew him out of his thoughts, and, without turning, he called for the person to enter.

"To, Mrs Cole wants to see you in her office," said sandy, one of the nicer workers in the orphanage. The only one who actually like him.

"Thanks Sandy," said Tom, turning to give the old woman a smile. She gently returned it, before leaving.

With a sigh, he got up and straitened his clothes. Mrs Cole had a hatred for untidiness, even though she could even keep he office clean. He strode confidently out of the room. The time when he would have been on the look out for bullies had long since passed. He was the oldest orphan here, and in effect, had mot of the control. Any way, it would only be a year before he could leae this wretched place and travel with Abraxas. They already had a plan of what they were going to do.

Stopping outside Mrs Cole's office, he knocked smartly.

"Come in," came Mrs Cole's voice, and Tom was surprised to note that she didn't sound drunk. Not a good thing. H walked in, and stoped when he noticed Mrs Cole had guests. A rich elderly couple.

"There is no mistake," said the Man.

"He is most definitely the one," added the woman.

"Have a seat Tom," said Mrs Cole, gesturing to a seat that was stting on the side of the desk. He sunk gracefully into it, before turning slightly to view the couple.

"tom, this is Mr and Mrs Riddle," said Mrs Cole from behind him. He felt a chill go down his spine, "They've come to adopt you,"

**Well? What do you think! No flames please!**


	3. chapter 2

**Sorry I took so long in updating, but I've been so caught up in the new story! Please forgive me!**

Years ago, tom would have leapt for the chance of being adopted. Now, he was suspicious, and more than a little annoyed. This was an inconvenience.

"Riddle," sneered Tom, "then I assume you are making a family claim,"

"We are," said the man.

"Really?" said Tom, "Then where is my _beloved_ father? Last I heard, he wasn't too happy about having a son. In fact, he seemed to loath my very existence,"

"He died several months ago in an accident," said the woman, "We didn't even know he had a son until we found his will,"

"I'm surprised he even mentioned me," said Tom, "He did try to kill me when I saw him,"

There was a moment of silence at this.

"You met him?" asked the man.

"Back when I still felt the need for blood family," sneered Tom, "I have other family now,"

He fervently hoped that none of the boys in Slytherin had put an eavesdropping charm on him. He'd never hear the end of it otherwise.

"Please, we just want to make up for lost time," said the woman.

"It is an inconvenience," said Tom coldly, "I have plans for the future, and this is only a hindrance,"

"Please let us be a family, at least till you are an adult," pleaded the woman.

"I will become an emancipated minor when I turn 17. You will not see much of me, so this is pointless,"

"That is true," interjected Mrs. Cole.

"Why?" asked the man.

"The boarding school I attend allows me to stay over the holidays, and I always do," said Tom dismissively.

"How did you get into the school?" asked the man, obviously perplexed.

"My mother's family assured me a place," said Tom, smirking slightly, "Where I go is based on who you're related to,"

"Who is your mother?" asked the woman.

"Merope Gaunt," said Tom, "She died giving birth to me,"

There was a moment of stunned silence, and Tom could see the couple was mortified at being related to the Gaunts.

"Well, if you will excuse me, Mrs. Cole," said Tom suddenly, standing up.

"Why?" asked the matron, obviously confused.

"I'm sure you have lots to discuss, and I have things I must see done," said Tom, already on his way to the door.

"Very well," sighed Mrs. Cole. She had long ago learnt that what Tom wanted, Tom got, one way or the other.

Tom stalked through the halls of the orphanage, his aura rolling out and pushing the others away. Like they came near him anyway.

He came to his room pretty quickly, and he slammed the door in an uncharacteristic manner, the slam echoing through that halls of the orphanage. To further vent his feelings, he quicked his trunk angrily. All it achieved was a string of profanities and a dull throb in his foot.

Limping he settled on his bed, staring out of the window. He wasn't really seeing anything, he was sorting through the emotions rolling through his mind. He started to sort and categorize them and lock them away.

Anger – not surprising – resentment – not unusual – bitterness – that caught him by surprise. But not as much as the faint feeling of hope.

Hope for what? He wondered. He was jolted out of his thoughts by a feint knock on the door.

"Come in!" he barked. He heard the door gently open, then close, then the sound of soft footfalls, before the bed sank slightly as someone sat next to him.

"What happened?" asked Sandy.

"My grandparents showed up," said Tom shortly, "they wanted to adoptme,"

"Shouldn't you be happy about that?" asked Sandy.

"they only came out a of a misplaced sense of regret and guilt," snapped Tom

"You should be happy," said Sandy.

"Why?" asked Tom.

"You've always wanted a family,"

"I have family. Family that needs me,"

"At that school of yours?" asked Sandy.

"Yes," said Tom, "We have plans. And this just gets into the way,"

"Nothing illegal?" asked Sandy warningly.

"no, we don't need to. We have enough money," said Tom, "some of them are heirs to vast amounts of money and property,"

"Still, you should give them a chance," said Sandy.

"why?" asked Tom, "And don't give me any of that rot about making an old couple happy,"

"Because I think that when an opportunity come your way, you should grasp it with both hands. Even if it is for a short while, you should go. Try for a different kind of family," said Sandy, "Don't say anything, just think about it,"

A week later, Tom had his trunk packed, and he had caught a coach to Little Hangleton to live with his grandparents.

**Well?**

**I'm sorry it took so long, but it's been a bit hectic lately. This chapter is a bit short, but the next one will be longer.**

**Please R&R.**


	4. Important AN

Hello my lovelies!

This is an incredible important notice.

I know I should have posted this earlier in the year, but I have had literally no time. It is no my year eleven (I'm Australian, so this is important) and I now have to dedicate the majority of my time to my studies for my WACE next year. Because of this my stories are now being put on the backburner. I will be continuing my stories, so don't panic, but they will be on a sort of hiatus for two years.

I will attempt to update when I can, but don't expect much for the next two years. Please don't be mad, and I hope you stick with me.

Thanks SA Syria


	5. Chapter 3

**Hello folks. This one has been a while. I mean, like two years, I think. Or less. I'm not actually sure. I had a great plot line and everything going for it, but I couldn't be stuffed actually writing anything. So now, with an unfortunate amount of writers block for my other stories, I have turned to this poor abandoned one. I hope you like the chappie folks. I have also started on the next chapter, but, knowing my record, it'll be a while.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

Clarissa riddle prided herself on a keen set of observational skills. To many of her not-so-regular guests, it almost seemed like clairvoyance. The truth was that she saw, she remembered, and she understood what her observations meant.

What was truly annoying her now was that, not only were her observations seemingly useless in every regard, the boy kept turning around and contradicting everything she tried to understand about him.

The only things she could saw for certain about her grandson was that he had his father's looks, his mother eyes, a vast intelligence that he put to use terrifying people into submission, and a vicious streak that he used to keep people at a distance. She was also pretty sure he knew that she was trying to understand him, and was deliberately doing things to confuse her.

There was also vagueness about him. She knew a lot of things, like the fact that he was not only used to rich foods, despite the orphanages obviously sub-par food quality, but he had incredibly refined tastes, and often refused foods on the basis that it was not done properly. When a maid had attempted to question him, he had not only gone into detail about how it was wrong, but also how to correct it. The maid had fled in tears, and the cook was near resigning. She did not, however, know where he went to school, (or even what its name was), which subjects he was taking or the identity of a single important person in his life.

There were also a lot of strange occurrences around the house, like mysteriously appearing, and vanishing animals, reports of floating objects, booms from the basement. She would suspect Tom (Harold did) but he seemed to spend his entire day in the Family library, his nose stuck in a book. He had declared it passable. By the third day, she had discovered that to be a very high compliment indeed.

All of these things had led her to here, standing outside the library, trying to muster up the courage to walk in and confront him. Harold had claimed urgent business, and had bolted. Just like a man.

Steeling herself, she knocked on the door, and walked in.

Tom looked up from the green couch (the only one anyone ever saw him in except for the blue on rare occasions. He ignored the yellow as if it didn't exist, and despised the red with a passion that could rival the sun).

"Yes grandmother?" asked Tom. His words were polite, but there was something mocking in his tone. She pulled herself into full battle mode (used when dealing with women who had no social class whatsoever) and fixed him with a stare that had turned men to whimpering piles of mush in her day.

"I have come to talk to you about something that has been bothering everyone else in the manor for the past week," she said coolly.

"Then, please, have a seat," said Tom, clearing up the opposite blue sofa quickly. She had been certain the red had been in its place before tom had moved in.

"The first thing is your atrocious lack of manners," said Clarissa, seating herself.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Tom, "I have behaved myself quite admirably,"

"I am currently facing three attempted resignations, and the cook is threatening to hang herself if she gets another one of your critiques," said Clarissa.

"Your point?" asked Tom.

"Why must you be so cruel to the maids and the cook?"

"I do not wish to be here. If I must be, I wish things to at least be bearable," said Tom haughtily, so like his father, that Clarissa, froze for an instant.

"If I am not mistaken, the food here is quite more bearable than the food you ate at the orphanage," it was a cruel blow to bring up the orphanage, but this was war.

"What makes you think I ever ate at that place?" asked Tom, and Clarissa swore mentally.

"And where did you eat?" she asked.

"Here and there," shrugged tom, "I liked to sample restaurants,"

"And where did you get the funds to do so?" she wondered for an instant if he was involved in some kind of black-market dealing, but she shook it off almost instantly.

"I received funds for the holidays from several of my friends. They despise the fact that I was forced to bear staying in the orphanage, and tried to help me in any way they could," there was an accusing note in his voice. She hated how well he could do that.

"So be it then," said Clarissa, giving in on that, "But please try to be nicer. I do not care if you are used to different foods, this is all you are getting here,"

"Fine," he sighed, as if he had given her a great victory (it wasn't), "Is there anything else?"

"Yes, there is," she said, "There is also the matter of the strange occurrences around the manor, coinciding with your arrival,"

"And what would those be?" asked Tom, a smirking glint in his eyes.

"Mysterious animals appearing and disappearing, reports of floating objects, people finding their clothing and hair dyed, vanishing objects," listed Clarissa.

"Why do you think I had anything to do with it?" asked Tom.

"They started the day after you moved in,"

"It never happened in the orphanage," said Tom.

"I get the feeling you were perfectly in control of the orphanage," said Clarissa, "SO I doubt anything would have happened,"

"What are you accusing me of?" there was clear suspicion on his face, and she could almost detect a guilty gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, nothing dear," smiled Clarissa, "I was wondering if you knew what was causing them,"

He frowned at her, and she did a little mental jig.

"I would also like to talk to you about your school," she said. She watched as his posture stiffened, and the sudden steel in his eyes worried her.

"What about my school?" asked Tom.

"I was wondering how good it was," said Clarissa, "Because there are several other schools that are of a very high calibre, and would benefit you immensely,"

There is a sudden flash of red in Tom's eyes, but she dismisses it as just a trick of the light.

"My school is more than adequate," said Tom, sounding as if he was holding in a sneer, "It suits all of my needs and more,"

"I am trying to do the best by you," said Clarissa, "Please, can't you tell me which school this is, so I can be assured you are getting the best possible education,"

"It isn't one you would have ever heard of," said Tom, "It's incredibly exclusive,"

"I would like to know which subjects you are taking, then," said Clarissa, "SO that I can ensure you are receiving the best education I can make possible,"

"I'm taking all of the subjects the school has to offer," said Tom, deflecting her question easily.

"And what subjects would that be?" asked Clarissa.

"This and that," said Tom, and Clarissa barely managed to restrain herself from gritting her teeth.

"Look tom," she said, trying a different approach, "I know you aren't happy to be here, nor do I get the feel that you like your grandfather and I, but we are trying. We didn't even know that we had a grandson until a month ago, and we are trying to make up for the time that we have lost with you. If you don't wish to tell me which school you attend, I won't push you, but I would like to know what subjects you are taking at least. I am only trying to do the best by you,"

"I'm sure," said Tom, sneering slightly, "However, there are some things I will not be sharing. I only have to stay here for a short while, and then I will never be seeing this place again. Forgive me if I wish to maintain my privacy,"

The dismissal was clear, so Clarissa got up with a sigh, and left.

Prisonerofhismind

"So, how did it go?" asked Harold, as Clarissa walked into the study.

"Horribly," sighed Clarissa, "I couldn't get a thing out of him, although I did manage to extract a promise from him to be nicer to the maids,"

"I get the feeling I should be suspicious," said Harold.

"I am," said Clarissa, "I worry about what he's going to do next,"

"I only hope he stays in the manor," said Harold, "The villagers talk nastily, and if he goes out, he'll be bound to end up as the newest topic for months,"

"Harold," chided Clarissa, "Don't be so shallow,"

"I'm not," said Harold, "I'm trying to protect him,"

"You just don't want him going near the old gaunt shack," said Clarissa.

"That mad man lives down there, and I don't want tom near him," said Harold.

Theprisonerofhismind

Tom smirked to himself. He was getting better at wandless eavesdropping charms. So, his uncle was still alive. Perhaps he ought to stop by and say hello. His grandfather was a fool if he thought old morfin would hurt the only other living heir of slytherin.

Tomorrow, decided tom. He would visit his uncle tomorrow. He needed to get some sun after all that time in the library. And he wanted to see if he could find some more of the books his grandmother had apparently hidden in the shack.


End file.
